


A Visit To A Mourning Town

by Whovian_On_Mars



Category: Broadchurch, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-15 16:09:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9243437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whovian_On_Mars/pseuds/Whovian_On_Mars
Summary: The small, broken community of Broadchurch is visited, only briefly, by an old old Doctor.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This Fic is really quick, just a cool idea I got when I finished watching Broadchurch season one. On that note, the story's set at the very ending scene of Broadchurch season one where the fire lanterns are being lit in honour of Danny's death, and set after The Husbands of River Song.

The hillside gleamed. That’s what she called it now: the hillside. Ellie Miller couldn’t bare calling it a cliff. Not anymore.

She was sitting tiredly yet anxiously next to former DI Alec Hardy, looking glossily at the night sky, dully illuminated by the numerous orange flames that burnt so brightly on the broken town of Broadchurch. So much had happened in the past few days, no, hours, for the town and especially her, she didn’t know what to feel. Her emotions were bundled up in a bag and tossed in the trash, and currently being mangled by a trash compactor at this point.

Sighing, and turning away from the sky and behind her, craning her neck over the back of the cold wooden bench, Miller got a better look at the burning pillars of fire. It was metaphorical, in a sense. This town’s tremors, turmoil, were being reflected in a single bonfire and many other smaller flames; the bonfire being the tragic loss of Danny Latimer, and the many other fires representing the dug-up information, damage, and conspiracy this case ripped apart to find an answer. She regretted that.

Turning back towards Hardy, Miller saw him adjusting his scarf around his neck, and sigh, releasing a bout of hot air which condensed in the cold night forming a puff of air. They sat in silence, together, as they felt the distant yet acknowledgeable heat of the bonfire on the beach below them. It was comforting, yet both Miller and Hardy knew that it would be a fleeting glance of a comforting life until the next event came. 

The two were snapped out of their silence when a figure, seemingly out of nowhere, slipped behind them and occupied the space next to Miller on the bench. This made her flinch, but only slightly, which as understandable since she had been under a significant amount of stress and pain in the past few days. But it was a public space, and the man had every right to sit there.

The three sat. In complete silence, just staring ahead of them at the calm, black sea. Miller eyed him inconspicuously, noticing he was wearing a dark maroon frock coat which colour was barely recognisable in the dark lighting, and an undervest and posh white shirt. He looked like magician in her opinion. But his face, that’s what Miller found most interesting about him.

The man had an old face. Partially covered by unkempt locks of grey hair, the man’s long, withered façade was odd. His eyes were weathered, and looked like they had seen too much. Just staring out, glossy yet full of spark and primal energy waiting to burst out, dormant yet always there. But on the outside, nothing. Absolutely unreadable. He stared, along with Hardy next to Miller, out into the sea, and she decided that was most likely the appropriate thing to do.

She was startled again, when the man’s voice echoed suddenly from the right of her, speaking with confidence and slight wit.

“Look at this town.” He said in a thick Scottish accent, certainly thicker than Hardy’s, which, by the way, also got his attention. The two former detectives stared at him with confusion first, then averted their gaze to the town like he had said earlier, staring once again at the bonfire and light pillars.

“This town has been through tragic loss, heartbreak, anguish and sorrow. And yet you still keep soldiering on…” The man said again, with a very intrigued look on his face. A wind picked up from the cliffside, blowing the old man’s hair into his face, making him look even older. He peered into the distance of the small town, eyeing the hills, the cliffs, the rocks, the sea, the houses and huts and…

“Because that’s the thing about you people.” He suddenly turned to both Miller and Hardy, which the two did the same as soon as they noticed. “You humans, always getting up whenever you fall down, always wiping off those scrapes and saying, ‘I can recover from this’. And that’s the attitude that gets you so far.”

At this point Miller and Hardy were very confused, but they both felt the man’s speech had some truth in it. Alec stared at him with an inquisitive yet ‘what the bloody hell are you talking about?’ expression, and Miller was just the same yet less… Scottish. The three eventually went back to staring at the bonfire-lit flames behind them, representing a town in grief, a mourning an unwarranted death that never should have happened.

“But the thing is,” the greying man suddenly turned sharply towards them again, looking at both of the officers with a gaze one could only describe as confusion, “Whatever the trouble, whatever the cause, whatever the pain, torture, and destruction your species goes through… the thing you always turn to in the end, the view you always look out to is…” He pointed at the sky, the stars, the endless universe above.

Those were the man’s final words, as he stood up off the bench, his maroon coat waving in the wind along with his hair, and went to walk off. But before he did, he whirled around with haste and took one last look at, specifically, Alec Hardy, squinting.

“You look familiar.” That was all he uttered in reminiscence, and then went on his way, disappearing in the night. Miller turned back to Hardy, and they both furrowed their eyebrows, and eventually shrugged, turning back to the sea like it never happened.

And if both they, and the rest of the town listened ever-so-closely, in the midst of all the crashing waves and crackling of flame, they would hear a faint groaning, wheezing noise echo through the night, all but to fade and fade, blending in with the sounds of the universe.


End file.
